


Atlas Of Bones

by angelheadedhipster, nitpickyabouttrains



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A Yin and Yang classic, Happy Birthday Aliza, Instead we gave you ice and water and angst, Isn't that just what you wanted?, Long time fan first time reader, M/M, Now with extra creepiness, Sad boys making out, So basically the same thing, We wrote you a present!, You wanted ice baths, hauntedsexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/pseuds/nitpickyabouttrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is sleepwalking, again. Hannibal finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atlas Of Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Aliza! We tried not to be too creepy. That is a lie. We tried not to use the word 'Flesh'.

_The trees unfolding like hands against the sky, grasping the darkness. The ground moves past him in fits and starts, smoothly and quickly like out of a car window, now stopped and still. He was walking. He was going forward._

It had not snowed in days. All the snow on the ground was old, set, turned to ice from nights of thawing and freezing, over and over. Still, the earth was covered in shining white, layers of frozen crystals glistening under the full harvest moon.

_Forward, towards him. Towards it._

The sky was clear and bright in Virginia, bright for the middle of the night. There were no clouds, no city lights to blot out the stars. Nothing but the twinkling lights in the vast darkness, and the moon, full and round and glowing. The moon glinted off the snow, illuminating the whole world, lighting it up, almost as if it were just a dreary day.  

_Red sky, the flames on the ground reflecting the red of the sun. A noise, ahead. Dark noise. The smell of blood, a wounded animal._

[Grey light shone on the moving form of a man, stumbling and lurching on the road. ](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/34300000/Will-Graham-Sleepwalking-hannibal-tv-series-34331942-245-160.gif)The man wore no shoes, and barefoot he crunched on the gravel and the ice. Each step crackled, muddy feet and ankles rising and falling, hitting the ground with unneeded force.

_He was falling forwards. Falling fast, a crackling in his ears._

Crack. The ice split and shattered under his foot.

_His hand was black, was bleeding, wasn’t his. Soft white skin, the veins underneath black and poisonous. Not his hand._  

The sound rang out in the quiet night. No one near to hear it. Only the steady patter of four paws, padding silently behind the man, watching over him. A lone companion.

_Everything was bleeding. Not bleeding, dripping. Water inside him, the world was the ocean. Was ice, solid, cold. Cracking. Splintering. White, like a bone._

Crunch.

_He had to get to the darkness, had to see. He was the darkness, he wasn’t, it was outside of him. Black hands on the snow, leaving trails of blood. The sound of water running._

The temperature was low and dropping. With each breath, a puff of white filled the air. In and out. The small disturbances in the air appearing and disappearing. Low and slow, the breathing was the only sound in the quiet night. 

_His skin was fraying, falling off him. Wind on his bones. The water being pulled, pulled forwards._

A car turned, from far down the road, headlight high and blinding to see in the white night. It roared down the road, toward the man, but the man did not move.

_They were running, he was running, four hooves on the ground, wind on his eyes, tears falling, ice falling. Running through fog and darkness. The sun reflected off the ice, bright and blinding, burning his eyes. He couldn’t see._

His eyes were shaded, neither open nor closed, but certainly unseeing. He did not look to his steps, to see where he placed his feet. He did no look to his dog, to make sure he was following. And he did not look to the car to make sure he was not in danger.

_A stag made of shadows, no light coming through. Will was the light._

The car swerved at the last moment, lights flashing and horn blaring. But it did not stop. It did not slow down.

_He was there, always there. Big as the night sky, antlers and fur. Staring at Will. Will felt happy, joy searing his insides._

He walked on. Step after step. Foot after foot. Never slowing, never changing. The dog followed obediently, occasionally nudging the man to the right or the left, avoiding larger rocks which might have tripped him.

_He just wanted to see his face. The stag’s face, hidden by shadows, by fur, by flames. If he could see the face, then he would know._

Not avoiding all rocks. He stepped on sharp things, rocks and glass and sticks and ice. The bottom of his foot was eventually pierced, resisting some but not all. The man did not wince. He did not slow down. He did not seem to notice at all. He just kept on his way, leaving a small trail of crimson behind on the snow. In the moon light, it shone a red so bright it almost seemed to glow.

_He couldn’t see, he couldn’t see, there was nothing there. Just blackness in it’s eyes, in his veins, blackness dripping out of him, blackness on the ground, spreading, covering everything. Thick and black, the smell of burning in the darkness, the stag’s breath on his neck, lights in his eyes, heat on his face-_

Another car came along, this one from behind. It was going much slower, the driver looking for something. It barely inched along when it came to the man, stopping just in front of him. It found what it was looking for, him.

+++

The low whine of one of his dogs was the first thing that Will heard. It jolted him from a restless sleep, from a disjointed dream of stags and blood and water. But then, all of Will’s dreams these days seemed to be disjointed. The more he worked on cases, the more he was out in the field, the worse it got. He was losing his hold, his grip on that thin line between his mind and the mind of killers. He left his eyes closed, still tired and worn, not at all rested.

A chill ran through Will’s body, and he felt his whole body shiver. He was cold, to the bone. It was a permeating cold, not just his ears or his fingers, but every inch of his body, even his insides. So cold that he was not sure he would ever be warm again. Visions of ice, freezing and crystallizing, flashed behind his closed lids.

Will pulled his knees in closer to his chest to try and warm up. Even without opening his eyes he knew where he was, the  familiar feeling of the couch underneath him. He was in his living room. There was a blanket tossed over him loosely, threadbare but better than nothing. He buried his fingers in the comforting fabric and pulled it tighter around his body.

Around his neck, the sweat-wetted collar of his shirt stuck to his clammy skin, staying plastered in place, like an ice-pack to his chest. So he was dressed like he was when he went to bed. Boxer briefs and his old t-shirt. How had he gotten to his couch? The blanket shifted and another shiver took him.

"Will Graham,” a stern but familiar voice said his name. It was a statement, but Will thought he sensed something of a question mark at the end, a hint of uncertainty.

Will knew he could wait no longer. [He blinked open his eyes, slowly. ](http://24.media.tumblr.com/db8bb4b688c1362ce07471e608ad3086/tumblr_mvwz8cvO7F1rvs9wso1_500.gif)They gave a little resistance, lashes sticking together, his lids heavy but finally yielding. The world blurred in front of him, but Will could make out a shape in front of him, a man sitting in a chair across from him, leaning back, legs crossed, facing him. Dr. Lecter.

Carefully, Will reached out a hand, removing it from the sparse comfort of the warmth of the blanket over him, over his head to the end table. He groped around, fingers searching, hoping to land on the elusive combination of glass and metal that he needed.

“What are you looking for, Will?” Hannibal asked, not moving an inch from his spot.

“My glasses,” Will said, the words coming out halted and hoarse. His tone cracked slightly on the last word, like he had lost his voice. Like he had been screaming.

A low and curious voice came from the back of Hannibal’s throat, like Will had posed a metaphysical problem worth thinking about, and not a lost item. “Hmm,” he hummed, “yes, that is a problem I had not considered. How do you get around without being able to see?”

Will squinted in the direction of the Hannibal-shape, his mind still fuzzy with sleep, not yet clear enough to understand what was going on. “Get around?” Will repeated.

For a moment, just one second, Hannibal’s face seemed to be covered in black and shadows. Black eyes in a dark face, unblinking and all-seeing. Will strained to see more clearly and Hannibal’s face shifted, back to normal.

“Outside,” Hannibal provided, his voice casual, like he was reading off a grocery list, “which was where I found you. Nearly two miles from your home, wandering on the road. I was rather surprised you did not wake when I confronted you or brought you back here.”

Outside. That explained how cold Will felt, it explained the prickling sensation of feeling coming back to his legs, it explained the dirt and mud on the bottoms of his feet. “I don’t remember,” Will admitted, clearing his throat, trying to sound more normal. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“Interesting,” Hannibal said.

Will closed his eyes; the combination of the light from the lamp by his head and trying to make out shapes was beginning to give him a headache. He could feel the sharp pains gathering behind his eyes, throbbing into existence. What he needed to do was stand up and find his spare glasses, so he could at least see. But the idea of standing up was not appealing, he was so tired and cold and stiff.

Carefully, he sat up, just a little, putting the blanket all the way around himself, as he set his feet on the ground and lifted his head from the armrest. It felt heavy, the only part of him that was warm, and it was too hot. Will opened his eyes again, slowly, and was surprised to see that Hannibal was no longer lounging back in his chair. He was leaning forward now, close to Will, his face only inches away. Antlers on Hannibal’s head, there and gone again, before Will had a chance to register what it could mean. And there was something in his eyes, as he watched Will move, like he was noting every little detail to record later.

Hannibal reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out, Will could not make out what. Then Hannibal extended out his hand. Cold metal slid onto Will’s face.

The world bent and shifted, lines solidifying and objects steadying, as Will’s vision cleared and everything took shape. He blinked a few times and he could see again. His glasses were back on his face, where they belonged.

“Thank you,” Will said, his voice only scratching a little.

Hannibal did not move from his new spot, his face and Will’s still close. Will could make out every line on his brow, every sharp pane of his cheekbones. He could pick out every fleck of gold in his dark mahogany eyes. “Is that better?” Hannibal asked.

Will nodded his head once, up and down barely at all. Even small movements set off the sensitive nerves in the back of his head. He needed some of his pills. But this was at least a step in the correct direction.

“How about this?” Hannibal asked. He reached out his hand, still in the air between them, inching it closer to Will. His hand brushed tentatively over Will’s forehead, stopping at his temple. Hannibal’s fingers were dry and warm, calluses from where he used to handle surgical implements still tangible and rough against Will’s clammy and sensitive skin.

Will tried not to gulp. His head leaned into the touch, without much thought at all. Hannibal’s hand felt like sweet relief. “Better,” Will managed to say.

+++

Color started to seep into Will’s face, the skin still cold under Hannibal’s hand. Blood running under the skin, passing over the zygomatic bone and pooled around the temporal bone, where Hannibal’s fingers were. He could almost see it, red and thick. He wondered what the lachrymal bone looked like, without all the skin on it. Will had such big eyes.

Will was looking at him now, his eyes wary, still slightly unfocused from sleep. If there had been fear in Will’s eyes, that would probably have been the end of him. Of them. Hannibal knew himself very well. He should leave. His hand on Will’s skin, cold but soft, stubble tickling his fingers - that was not part of the plan.

His wrist tensed, meant to withdraw, but then, [Will smiled. ](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/34300000/Will-Graham-smiling-with-Hannibal-hannibal-tv-series-34367725-245-199.gif)His eyes crinkled behind his glasses, and he bit his lip, and he smiled. Smiled up at Hannibal.

“Thank you for coming to get me, anyway,” he said. “It’s a.” He stuttered, like he was unable to get the idea out, the corners of his mouth turning up. “It’s a bit outside the bounds of doctor/patient services.”

Almost of it’s own volition, his hand moved, tracing the parietal bone until he could just feel the corners of Will’s eyelashes against his fingers. The muscles in Will’s cheeks twitched, contracting as Hannibal’s hand moved.

“If I had left you much longer, I may not have had a patient at all,” he said. “Hardly the best practice for a doctor.”

He had been delighted to find Will on the road, and something else. In someone else, he would have called it relief; in him, it was more like satisfaction. Whatever happened, he could find Will. He could bring him back. Will was his.

Will was still smiling, looking slightly sheepish now. “Thank you, still.”

[And he bit his lip, again, soft teeth over pink skin](http://media.tumblr.com/5d1fda0b3f747ebddc8f4e99000cb652/tumblr_inline_mtyu1b1RA81rr9pec.gif). Hannibal’s hand was still at his temple, he felt Will’s jaw move under the skin, watched the flesh of his lips compress.

Hannibal considered himself a person who understood his own desires, who existed in conversation with them, ever comprising, always re-evaluating. He thought of himself that way even as he leaned closer to Will’s face, watched the eyes behind his glasses widen, the pupils expand, saw Will’s breath catch in a very familiar way. Usually, when Hannibal heard someone’s breath catch like that, from this close, he had something sharp in his hands.

It took until the moment when his lips were against Will’s, his hand curling around Will’s cheek, Will’s hair brushing against his forehead, for Hannibal to admit that he had lost his control. This, the feeling of Will’s lips on his, soft and slightly wet and warming up underneath him, this was not part of the world he was allowed to have.

He felt Will’s lashes against his cheek, felt Will blink once, slowly, his eyelashes trailing against skin. And then his eyes closed and he was reaching forward, his arms wrapping around Hannibal’s shoulders, [their mouths moving closer together.](http://media.tumblr.com/d63bf71efc3194946befd0699c704534/tumblr_mrsbicjEYv1qk1vdto1_500.gif)

Will kissed like he was starving, like he hadn’t been touched in so long. His mouth was still wet and cool from being outside, warming under Hannibal’s fingers. The blanket slid off his shoulders as he pushed forward, wrapping himself around Hannibal, burrowing into him, soaking up all the warmth around him.

Hannibal couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed like this, if ever. The blood rushing through him made a whooshing sound in his ears, and he felt his autonomic system kick into gear, pupils dilating, adrenaline surging. There was hair in his mouth, Will’s hair, and the roughness of Will’s stubble against his cheek. He could smell the sickness that Will always smelled like, but also the smell of snow and cold, of wool blankets and damp hair. Will was so alive it seeped out of him, bled through the edges, made the air around him seem blurred. He couldn't breath without having to move his lips from Will’s, and he didn’t want to.

It was Will who broke the kiss, pulling his head back to look at Hannibal. He was sitting on him now, straddling Hannibal’s carefully tailored pants, mussing the creases. Hannibal could see Will’s lungs rise and fall through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, could feel the nervousness in the grip of his fingers, twisted into Hannibal’s jacket, could smell the excitement coursing through him. Will’s glasses were pushed up on his nose, the lenses smudged. His eyes were huge under them, bright and deeper looking than ever. You could fall in.

“Hannibal,” said Will, and then he stopped. “I don’t think…” and then nothing, just looking at him with those eyes, the weight of him pressing against his hips.

It was a knife’s edge, again. The thin wire that connected the moment before to the moment after. All the possibilities were spread out in front of him, labelled, like a body on a table. All the fabric Will had on him right now was probably less than that which made up Hannibal’s tie. He felt warm against Hannibal’s skin, alive and yielding. Will breathed against him, hot air ghosting over Hannibal’s face. It would be so easy. He felt a humming in his ears, a high, cold noise.

There was a bright spot of light, the lamp reflected off of Will’s glasses, that disappeared as Hannibal’s shadow fell over it.


End file.
